Reflections
by Butterfly Wishes
Summary: It is the night before Aragorn is to become King. But tonight, he resigns to sitting alone and reflecting on what has passed and what is to come.


_Disclaimer: I do not claim to own, nor am I making money off of this story. All characters belong to the magnificent J.R.R. Tolkien, and I am merely dabbling in his world._

**Reflections**

People expect me to be emotionless, moving from place to place like leaves on the wind and not giving a damn what happens along the way. But I have never been emotionless; I have merely been quite an actor all this time. Of course, there are moments when even Lord Elrond himself would be subject to a gaping mouth or a furrowed brow, and I am nowhere near being as stately as the Elvin king.

When I first set eyes upon the tiny folk in that dingy inn, I was surprised. I am sure, however, that I looked marvelously calm in my hooded cloak. My first thoughts upon the matter were that the children seemed to have lost their way, and were looking for directions or a guide to lead them. When the two eternally grinning ones stepped up to get their fair share of ale, however, I knew they had meant to stop at this point; the only question was _why_.

Only minutes passed before the answer was presented to me. Their leader, Frodo Baggins, tripped and slipped a glinting bit of gold on his finger in the process. As a Ranger, I have seen and heard many things in my life, but a disappearing hobbit?

The damned ring was back.

Hours passed and I learned the children's – or rather, men, I should say at this point, what with all they've been through – tale, and their purpose. Gandalf had been delayed; the hobbits knew not what to do. The travelers knew nothing of my history at that point, but I was quite aware of it. I knew what I had to do, and proceeded to do it. We were on the run by nightfall, and yet it still was not enough to save them.

Looking back, now, all that time spent protecting the hobbits seems like a waste. Then again, we made it to the ever-shining city of Rivendell. Frodo received the care he needed and was reunited with a friend of his – another hobbit of some name, though it is not important now. What is important is what followed.

We were quick to form the Fellowship of the Ring. Oh, how grand and strong we sounded! One dwarf, strong of heart. An elf, compassion in his soul. A wizard, wise in years. Four hobbits, gay in nature. And two men: one, brave but boastful, and the other… the other, myself.

The Fellowship broke quickly. Gandalf appeared to have fallen to his death; Boromir left fighting and successfully regaining the honor he had momentarily lost seconds before. Merry and Pippin, the lighthearted hobbits, were dragged away. And Frodo and Sam ran to continue the quest without putting those left at risk. When the damage had been assessed and we found only myself, the elf, and the dwarf remaining (and odd trio, I'll say it now), I believed my heart to shred in two. The Fellowship was dying, and there was nothing I could do to mend it. What was my purpose on this quest if I could not protect those who were in danger? But when I looked into the eyes of Legolas and Gimli, my oddly paired companions, I knew that we would do what we could. We would start with the two kidnapped – or is it hobbitnapped? – and would then work our way towards Mordor in order to aid those in peril.

It was times like those I knew I was not hiding my emotions.

The quest has been over for some time now. I sit here by a lake, the name of which I do not know, and reflect on what has happened. Gandalf has taken his role as the White Wizard well. The hobbits are glad to have gone back to the Shire, though Frodo still seems scarred irreparably by his journey. Gimli and Legolas are happy remaining in my company for the time being. I will surely miss them when they move on.

The water beside me is not moving quickly. The surface is so damn _bright_, and I feel like it is forcing me to see everything I do not wish to see. I am just out of sight of it; I know because the cloud floating above me is visible where my head would be.

There is a feast going on somewhere; I am content remaining here in the silence and solitude to contemplate the past. It is hypocritical, really, the way I am currently acting. My mantra the entire journey was "What's done is done. Look not to the past nor the future, but to the present, for that is what truly matters."

And yet, all I do is look to the past to answer my questions about the future.

I have never been content remaining in one place. If I am to stay here for the rest of my life, I will surely go mad. I bask in the glory that is the sun, and enjoy breathing deeply when the wind whistles by. I get euphoria from sitting astride a horse, galloping across an endless field to unknown territory. How will I manage to stay here?

But I have managed, these past months, no matter the situation. I have gone through near death countless times. Who is to say I will not conquer this challenge yet? My reflection is waiting for me, calling to me, asking me to gaze upon myself and answer these questions myself. And I still cannot look.

The trees rustle and I sigh. I can hear the sound of song and laughter, carried away from the feast on the wings of the breeze. I know I should be there, grinning and slapping the backs of my friends, but I would rather sit and think. All I seem to do lately is think. Gone are the times I can do something on impulse; gone are the times I can turn and run merely because my feet were tired of standing still.

I am still oddly afraid of looking into the lake, but I find myself crawling towards it. I pause briefly, on the edge, before leaning forward an extra inch and seeing my face come into view. I am clean, I note satisfactorily, and breathe deeply. The air smells of wood and the leather of my sheath.

I take a long time to study myself. My hair is neat and well kempt; my skin is clear and I cannot find the dirt that seemed a permanent stain for the past months. Slowly, hesitantly, I move my sight to my own eyes. They are silver in the reflection of the water. I take a deep breath and feel a sense of calm wash over me, as does the peace in the aftermath of the war of the ring on the countries of Middle Earth.

There are many names I go by, and just as many personalities to match them. Strider is the man without a home. He travels where he will and does not express emotion, if only for the sake of tradition and appearance. The heir to the throne of Gondor is noble and strong, and is content with the kingly appearance he is expected to have. These two men confuse me; they always have.

Now, as I gaze into the piercing eyes of my reflection, I see things in common between these two alter egos. Both dream of peace for all; they equally wish that the laughter of children will ring across the hills. But above all, both are willing to live and die for their friends and world. These men will work together to find a common ground, to live as both Ranger and King.

Tomorrow, I will rise to take my rightful place on the throne of Gondor. Tomorrow, I will become whom I have hidden from all these years. Tomorrow I will consult with my friends, and they will guide me in the direction that is right for all. Tomorrow I face life; I face the names that are my own.

But for tonight, I am content sitting by a still lakeside, reflecting on the past, dreaming of the future, and living nameless, as I choose.


End file.
